


Disgust, Horror, and Dating Sherlock Holmes

by Dlvvanzor, Living_In_a_Fantasy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dlvvanzor/pseuds/Dlvvanzor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_In_a_Fantasy/pseuds/Living_In_a_Fantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Relax, John," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes impressively. "I don't actually think we're lovers."<br/>"And yet you keep telling people we are."  To Sebastian had been one thing. Letting it remain implied to get Sherlock away from a drunk woman was fine. Telling Anderson who would tell everyone at the Yard? Not Fine. Very Not Fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disgust, Horror, and Dating Sherlock Holmes

How they had managed to get another case that involved Sebastian Wilkes, Sherlock would simply never be able to fathom, but somehow they were sitting across from him, again, in his office, and Sherlock was staring at him and hating him with a passion.  Again.  Or, more accurately, still.

If the case weren't both interesting and high-paying, he wouldn't have even done it.  As Sebastian rattled on about his company's problem (they really did attract a lot of murderers there), Sherlock let his attention wander.  Lovely, reliable John was taking notes, as always.  He was thorough like that.  Sherlock liked it, because it meant he didn't have to pay attention to the boring bits.  He wouldn't get anything from Sebastian, because Sebastian was an idiot.  He continued to let his attention drift.

"So you're still around," Sebastian eventually said to John.  Sherlock's eyes snapped back to the situation at hand.

John looked up and nodded. "Yes," he said simply.

"Hasn't deduced you out of house and home, then?"

"No. His deductions don't bother me."

" _Really_ ," Sebastian said with a laugh.  "Guess you have nothing to hide, then."  He shook his head, amused.  "Liking Sherlock Holmes' deductions.  You're a rare sort."

John smiled tightly. "Yes, well, his deductions are very impressive. Without them, how do you expect we'd solve this case for you? Or how would he have solved your last case for you, for that matter?"

"But you live with him, don't you?" Sebastian went on.  "He must turn that at you all the time."

"He's actually remarkably considerate," John said, watching him levelly. "And even if he does deduce me I usually don't mind."

"Rare sort," Wilkes repeated.

Sherlock looked at John.  John looked annoyed.  Quite annoyed, actually, although he was hiding it well.  Last time, he'd denied their friendship to Sebastian, but a lot of time had passed since then.  Lots of things had changed.  Like Sherlock falling madly in love with him, for example, not that John was aware of this change.  But now, John was annoyed at what Sebastian was saying, so maybe John wouldn't mind if he just... for the sake of...

"Is it so difficult for you to understand that someone might love me?" Sherlock said loftily, checking his watch.  "How dull.  Can we please move on?"

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up and he glanced at John.

John's first reaction was shock and he nearly snapped his head around and demanded for Sherlock to tell him what he was doing. But he remembered the last case, when Sherlock had introduced him as a friend. John had brushed him off. He'd realized later that Sherlock had been trying to prove something to Sebastian. John wasn't sure what made this man special, why Sherlock seemed to care what he thought, but more than likely, they'd never see him again. So John schooled his features and simply met Sebastian's gaze. "Was there anything else you needed to tell us about?"

* * *

A few days later, they were talking to a witness.  Well, Sherlock was talking to her, and he was employing his acting skills to the best of his ability to calm the weeping, older mother.  Maybe when she stopped crying she could actually be of some use to his investigation.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John finally catching up with him, drawing nearer with a slight frown that told Sherlock 'if you're torturing this lady you'll be hearing about it later.'  But he wasn't torturing the witness for once so he simply turned back around, finishing the comforting thing he was saying.  The woman's attention was drawn to John, and Sherlock watched the suspicion in her eyes as his cover cracked a bit with John's arrival.

"Who is this?" she asked warily, looking back at Sherlock.

"My boyfriend," Sherlock said just slightly flamboyantly, snatching John's hand.  "He never met Henry but he knew Carl, you know, and we're both just devastated.  Just devastated."

John really hated when Sherlock put on a show so easily for a witness, but went along with it, considering it was sure to be important.

* * *

Lestrade had asked them to go out for a pint to celebrate the end of a rather rough case, and after some prodding from John, Sherlock had agreed to go. Lestrade had seemed shocked (for good reason) but pleased, and the group of them had gotten a table and were sitting around discussing the finer points of the case. Sherlock was at the bar getting the second round, but he'd been taking a while. John craned his neck around, trying to see him past the people.

The woman who had inserted herself into Sherlock's path was more cleavage than anything else, and quite frankly he found it disturbing, especially because she seemed intent on introducing this cleavage to his face.  Normally he would have just pushed past her, but he was carrying rather a lot of alcohol which wasn't inexpensive and this woman was rather tall and more than a little drunk and he wasn't sure it wouldn't escalate.  She purred something about her flat and he stared at her, uncomprehending.

John rolled his eyes and stood, navigating his way through the crowds.  Sherlock looked rather alarmed and like he needed saving.

"-and fuck me." 

Startled, Sherlock inched back, but the bar was behind him so there was only so far he could go.  "Um," he said, uncharacteristically flustered.  The case had just ended.  All his mental reserves were used up, and his acting energy was entirely drained from the dozens of witnesses he'd had to lie to.  Normally, he would be crashing right now.  "No."

She smirked and drew nearer to him.  "Don't be shy..."

John could only think of a few times when he'd seen Sherlock so alarmed. He moved towards the pair.  Sherlock saw him and latched onto opportunity where it presented itself.  "John!" he called.

John obediently went up to Sherlock, glancing from him, to the woman, and back to Sherlock.

"Cindy here was just offering to take me home," he said a bit more squeakily than he'd intended.

John raised an eyebrow and looked at her. "Really?"

She nodded, confused now.  "Um... why?  Is he married?"  She backed off a bit.

"Not married, no."

Apparently she was drunk enough that she didn't have the mental capacity to make the implied leap.  Sherlock tried to edge away but she was again blocking his path with breasts.  Sherlock stared at them.  He really, really just didn't like breasts.

If John didn't know just how fried Sherlock was from the case, it might have been amusing. As it was, he felt a bit bad for him, seeing as he wasn't even capable of fending off a pick up in a pub at the moment, something that surely wasn’t completely alien to him. He put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gently began edging him away from the woman. "He's not interested, sorry."

The woman gazed after them.  "Ooooh."

"Right.  Yes," Sherlock said as John nudged him away.  "Gay.  Jealous gay lover."  He gestured at John with his head.

John rolled his eyes again and led Sherlock back to their table.

* * *

They'd been called to a crime scene, and John was Not Happy. It was just after five in the morning but it had been 'urgent' so he'd been dragged down here by Sherlock. Lestrade had gone God knows where leaving them in the company of Anderson. John didn't want to deal with Anderson at five in the morning.

Sherlock knew John was Not Happy but he was completely unwilling to face Anderson alone.  Also, it _was_ urgent, despite John's protests.

Anderson noticed both of their scowls. "Bit early for the pair of you." He looked between them. "Freak keeping you on a short leash? Still dragging you to crime scenes?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes hugely.

"Why so quiet?" he asked John, whose scowl had increased but who had said nothing. "Or has he trained you to stay silent, too? Only geniuses allowed to talk at crime scenes now?"

"Well _you're_ speaking so obviously that isn't the case," Sherlock snapped.

"Oooh territorial about your pet, aren't you?"

"I don't know about you," Sherlock growled, "but my lovers aren't pets and if imbeciles attempt to imply otherwise I do not sit idly by."

John's head snapped around to face Sherlock as Anderson's mouth dropped open dumbly. "You mean you two are...?" He asked the question with a not-so-subtle hint of nausea in his voice.

Sherlock regarded him coolly and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I didn't expect the rumours to be _true_." He looked at John. "I don't know how you got roped into sleeping with this nutcase, but better you than me." He spotted Donovan across the way and shot them a look before moving towards her, eager to share the news.

Sherlock watched him go, looking pleased, and turned to look at John who was still staring at him.  ...Oh.  Not Good.

"Sherlock," he said tightly, "what was that?"

Sherlock glanced away.  "I need to go examine the crime scene..."

"No," he said sharply. "What. The hell. Was that?"

"Which part?" Sherlock asked.  Not that he didn't know.

"You know very well which part."

Sherlock sighed.  "It made him go away, didn't it?"

"This is _Anderson_. It's not some stranger we'll never see again. The whole Yard is going to think we're sleeping together!"

"They already think we are," he backpedaled.

"And now for all they know you've confirmed it!"

Sherlock cringed a bit but recovered well.  "I don't have time for this," he said briskly.  "I'm examining the crime scene."  He swept off towards it.

John followed, just to stay within hearing range. "Fine, I'm going home. You enjoy your crime scene."

"Be home soon, _darling_."

John glared at him and stalked off, hailing a cab.

When he was certain John's eyes were no longer on him, he turned around and watched him go.  He rubbed a hand down his face and cursed aloud.

* * *

Sherlock returned to the flat about six hours later.  The case had ended ridiculously, with the killer turning himself in, and Sherlock had been sent home.  John had been too worked up to sleep, and had eventually gone to Speedy's to grab breakfast. By the time Sherlock arrived he was back upstairs, sitting in his chair, trying to focus on the paper. He glared at Sherlock when he walked in.

Sherlock had sort of been hoping that John would have forgotten about it, or at least decided Sherlock was a nutter and left it at that.  Or, ideally, that he actually was madly in love with Sherlock and had now realized it.  Unfortunately, the glare John shot him told him otherwise.  He calmly took off his coat and scarf, then went into the kitchen to make tea.

John waited patiently.  Sherlock eventually came out with two mugs of tea.  He set one down in front of John, then sat as far away from him as he could, sipping at the contents of his mug.

John didn't reach for it, still watching Sherlock.  "So."

"Hm?"

"Don't act like you don't know."

Sherlock took a long sip of his tea.

"Why did you say that?"

"Defending you," he offered.

"That wasn't defending me."

"Lover is better than pet," Sherlock pointed out.

"You could have done it another way or ignored it," he said. "And it's not the first comment you've made like this."

Sherlock waved this away a little stiffly.  "We're basically lovers," he dismissed.

"No, we're not."

"Basically," he repeated.  "We share living space, money, all our time..."

"We don't have sex!" It was the first time his voice had risen since Sherlock walked in.

"Minor detail," Sherlock assured him uncertainly.  "Calling you my lover on several different occasions was simply the easiest way out of the situation.  Nothing to worry about."

"It is not a minor detail. There is a big difference between friend and lover, which is the snogging and the sex!"

John's temper evidently did not improve with lack of sleep.  He always was cranky when he had to wake up early.  Sherlock couldn't imagine how he'd survived in the army.  "Relax, John.  I don't actually think we're lovers."  He forced himself to roll his eyes.

"And yet you keep telling people we are." John thought back on all the comments over the past couple of months. To Sebastian had been one thing. Letting it remain implied to get Sherlock away from a drunk woman was fine. Telling Anderson who would tell everyone at the Yard? Not Fine. Very Not Fine.

"So?"

"So I'm noticing a pattern."

"I discovered it as a useful tool.  Of course I kept it."

"Well, stop," he snapped.

After a long moment of silence, Sherlock said, calmly, "Fine."

"Fine!" John glared at the tea in front of him.

Sherlock looked into his own tea.  Eventually he took another sip.

"And when Lestrade comes asking us to another crime scene, making comments about us being together, you'll tell him we're not together."

"Fine.  But might I ask, who is it in Scotland Yard, exactly, you're so interested in shagging that you can't stand the thought of them being mistaken?" he tried to ask sharply.

John stared at him in disbelief. "You're not serious?"

He stared blankly back at him.  He hadn't actually thought there was someone but apparently there was.

John shook his head. "Unbelievable. You are unbelievable." He stood, not with the intent of going anywhere but unable to sit still any longer. Instead he moved to the table and began stacking up the mess across it jerkily. "I'm not looking to shag someone, I just don't appreciate you saying we're sleeping together with people I work with."

"Then I don't see the problem," he mumbled.

"Are you not hearing me?" he demanded.

"I heard you."

"Are you comprehending what I'm saying to you?"

"All I fully understand is that you don't want me to tell people we're together."

"Yes. Because we're not together." He was out of things to organize on the table. He glared at it. "These are people we see weekly."

Sherlock sighed.  "Fine.  Yes.  Sorry."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I am," he disagreed.  "Contrary to popular belief, I don't go about my day attempting to disgust and horrify you."

"Well, that's good to know."

Right.  Then 'disgusted' was the right choice of word.  Good to know.  He stood up.  "Going to wrap up the case," he said by way of an explanation.  He shot the rest of his tea and put the mug down.

"Fine, see you later then." John sat back on his chair and opened the paper again.

Sherlock went to his room to do so.

* * *

It was only a few days later when Sherlock had the opportunity to correct someone about the status of their relationship.  Or lack thereof.  John, conveniently, was there to witness it.  There were at a crime scene, the first since the rumor had gone around, and Lestrade approached them.  "Hey, never got a chance to say it but congrats, you two.  I'd like to say I didn't see it coming, but..." He grinned.

Sherlock didn't look at him, but instead very intently at the corpse.  Drowning led to wonderfully nasty corpses.  "We're not together."

Lestrade blinked at him.  "Oh.  The rumor mill..."

"-Is only as good as its source," Sherlock said shortly.  "I told Anderson John and I were lovers to disgust him, and he told everyone else.  We're not lovers; Anderson is an unobservant buffoon."

Lestrade nodded.  "Right.  Well.  This case."

John noticed Sherlock's tone. The two of them had been short with each other the past few days, ever since the incident. And Lestrade hadn't been surprised. He was more surprised that they weren't together. Great.

Sherlock nodded back, relieved to be onto matters that felt less like being stabbed in the guts.  "He was drowned in a bathtub, but not his..."

John followed along, taking notes and trying not to feel too weird that telling someone they weren't together felt more awkward than Sherlock saying they were.

When Lestrade gestured for Sherlock to accompany him to another body, Sherlock followed Lestrade away, not looking behind to see if John was following.

* * *

When they got home, John was disappointed to discover that it was even more tense there than when they were out.  He briefly wondered if he should have just let the comment slide.

"Satisfied?" Sherlock asked calmly as he hung up his coat.

"Well you didn't seem very happy to tell Lestrade that we weren't together," he pointed out, holding his and waiting for Sherlock to move.

"It was a waste of time."

"Right..."

"I have better things to do than satisfy people's curiosity and protect your delicate sensibilities from disgust," he added.  He went to make tea again.

John followed. "You've been short with me all week."

"You've been short with _me_ all week."

John fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Fine, we've been short with each other. Can we just get past this?"

Sherlock shrugged.  "Fine."

John wouldn't say it was easy to read Sherlock, but he'd always managed fairly well until now. At the very least, he could usually get some of an idea what the other man might be thinking or feeling. Not lately though, not since that confrontation with Anderson. "Okay. Fine."

Sherlock continued making tea.  "Disappointing that it was a suicide," Sherlock said.

John watched him. Studied him, really. He couldn't read a thing on him. "I figured you'd think so."

"If it had been a murder, it would have been quite a convoluted case," he continued.  "However, it was a creative suicide, which is refreshing if it _must_ be suicide."

"Right, of course." How did Sherlock close himself off so easily?

"I think her cousin had cause to kill her," he went on.  "Had it been a murder, I would have looked into the cousin."

John hummed, still watching him.

"Lestrade should put the father on suicide watch," Sherlock mused.

"Hm. Yes." He wasn't listening that closely.  Had Sherlock actually pushed it aside that easily, or was it just easy for him to hide whatever he felt from a situation? Just a few hours ago he'd been irritated telling Lestrade they weren't together. If he just thought it a waste of time he would have sounded bored. But he'd sounded irritated.

Sherlock got out his phone and typed a text to Lestrade.  He got a reply momentarily and nodded at his phone before tucking it away.  He glanced at John.  John was studying him.  He put another layer of defense on and poured out the hot water.

John continued to watch him without comment.

Sherlock internally frowned.  John was watching him really closely.  He tightened up any loose corners of his behavior and finished the tea, handing John his cup and sitting down at the kitchen table.

John took it and sat down, too. John could always tell when Sherlock was acting, and he was.  That was certain, even if John didn't know exactly what he was covering up.

Sherlock sipped his tea.  "Lestrade put the man on suicide watch."

"Good."

He nodded.

"Are you still irritated?" he asked bluntly.

Sherlock let himself raise an eyebrow as if surprised.  "No?"

"Really."

"Yes?  Do I look irritated?"

"You don't look anything."

"Then why do you think I'm irritated?"

"Because you don't look anything."

"Then I'm either nothing, or something, so why would you assume irritation?"

Sherlock was always so difficult. "Because you were irritated last."

"Fair enough.  But I'm not now.  Said we were going to move on, didn't we?  I've been annoyed before, it's not exactly a novel experience."

"Saying and doing is different."

Sherlock shrugged and drank more tea.  He looked around for food for a moment, then decided against it.

"So?" John prompted.

"So, what?  I've already informed you several times that I'm not irritated," he said calmly.  Because it was true.  Irritated was definitely not the word.

"Well what are you then?" he asked.

"Neutral, at the moment.  Also slightly bewildered as to why you seem to think I'm in some sort of deep distress."

"I'm not..." he sighed. "Fine. Never mind."

Sherlock adjusted a beaker that had something orange in it.

John gave up and left the room.

Sherlock, once again, stared down at the remnants of his tea.  It was good.  John got closer than anyone else, but even he couldn't really read him.  Good.

* * *

Sherlock sat in the chair in utter disbelief that Sebastian was in his living room.  "What," he said scathingly, "could you _possibly_ want?"

John, sitting across from Sherlock in his own chair, didn't like having Sebastian in his living room. It was not something he'd ever wanted to happen.

Sebastian glanced between Sherlock and John and evidently saw some kind of tension there.  "Uh... am I interrupting something?"

Sherlock huffed.  "No.  Now tell me what you want so you can leave."

Sebastian continued to look between them.  "You sure?  Can tell when people are about to shag..." he smirked.

"We're not together," Sherlock said impatiently.  "What do you want?"

John held back a sigh. If there was anyone he didn't mind thinking the two of them were together, it would be Sebastian. John was sure he'd make a big deal of it.

"Wait, you were together, like, two weeks ago.  That short, then?"

Sherlock made more impatient noises.  "We were never together.  You were right, always have been, no one wants me, now unless you have something _incredibly_ interesting to say right now..."

Sebastian smirked.  "Well.  You know the offer I made before.  It still stands."

Sherlock made a face.  "Absolutely not."

"Can't blame a man."  He shrugged conspiratorially at John.

" _What do you want_?" Sherlock all but yelled.

Sebastian eventually got around to rambling on about what he was there for, and Sherlock stared at him blankly before ordering him to leave.

When Sebastian didn't move fast enough, John urged him along. "You heard him. Leave."  Sebastian eventually did, with much complaining.  When he was gone, Sherlock flopped back in his chair and rolled his eyes.

"What was all that about?" John asked.

"His mother lost an heirloom necklace," Sherlock said, scrunching up his face.  "And he felt like this should be my problem."

"Sherlock."

He turned to look at him.  "What?"

"What was all that about no one wanting you, and an offer?"

"He was friends with Victor Trevor," Sherlock explained dismissively.  "He's been trying to bed me for nearly a decade."

"He's been trying to sleep with you?"

Sherlock stared at him.  "That is what I just said, yes."

John stared back. "Why?"

Sherlock blinked back the pinch that question delivered to his heart.  "Haven't the foggiest."

"I mean, he doesn't seem to like you," John continued. "Why would he want to sleep with you when he's such an arse to you all the time?"

Sherlock shook his head.  "You live in a very different world than I do."

"Suppose I do."

Sherlock rolled his head back to center and closed his eyes, hoping he'd be able to delete that meeting with Sebastian.  He touched it in his brain.  Nope, that one would be staying.  He sighed.

"And the other bit?"

Sherlock opened one eye.  "Is there a queue somewhere I've not noticed?"

"Why would you say something like that?" he asked.

"Which?"

"That no one wants you."

"I'm still not seeing the queue," he said.

"That doesn't mean anything," John denied.

He closed the eye.  "If you find someone who does, let me know.  Or, rather, send them away, because I'm not interested."

"Sherlock, come on." He moved his chair closer and turned it so that he was facing Sherlock properly.

"What?"

"Don't be like that."

Sherlock shrugged.  "I accepted it a long time ago.  No one- no one who actually knows me passably well, anyway, not people like Molly- has even been interested in me.  I'm not 'being' like something, I'm stating objective fact."

"It's not a fact." He shook his head. "You're not...you're great, Sherlock. Someone would be lucky to have you."

"I agree entirely," Sherlock said.  "But I can draw up a spreadsheet if you'd like."

"Maybe it hasn't worked out yet, but it will."

"I don't care, John," he said.  "I'm not an adolescent girl, dreaming of the boy who will someday love me."  He shook his head.

"It bothers me that you think about it like that though."

"Like what?"

"That you're destined to be alone, or something," he said, leaning forwards slightly. "Like you don't think anyone could ever want you. It's not true."

"31 years of evidence," he shrugged.  "I operate based on what I can observe."

"You have to have a little hope."

"Hope for something I don't care to have?"

"I don't believe that you don't want it," John said.

Sherlock tightened up, but only internally.  "Why?"

"Because I don't," he said simply.

"Based on what?" he rephrased.

"Based on the way I've seen you act. The way you talked to Sebastian."

"The way I talked to Sebastian?" he asked tensely.

"The way you said he was right, about no one ever wanting you. Or the way you broadcasted us being together before then. You wanted to prove him wrong that time. Today you hated saying that it wasn't true."

"I don't particularly enjoy other people thinking I am completely unlovable," he dismissed.

"And that's the point," John said, watching him closely. "You don't normally care what people think."

"I care if they think I'm stupid," he pointed out.

"Which is also very important to you."

... He had a point.  Sherlock shook his head anyway.  "You're oversimplifying."

"No I'm not," he said calmly.

"I don't need a boyfriend, John," Sherlock said irritably.  He spat the word.

"No, you don't," John agreed. "But you want one."

Sherlock made a face.

"You do. It's fine. To want one."

"It's _normal_ , is what you mean," he said scathingly.

"What's wrong with that?" he asked.

"I don't..." Sherlock huffed.  "What would be the point of having one?  Sex?  I can get that if I ever want it.  Friendship?  I have you.  Someone to get in the way of the work?"  He scrunched just his nose this time.

"And yet, you still want one." John tried to figure out why that seemed to offend him so much. "You want them combined. The friendship and the sex and someone who won't get in the way of your work. That's a perfectly fine thing to want."

Sherlock gave the ceiling a good glaring-at.  As ever, John missed the incredibly obvious.  Though he supposed he should be grateful for it in this case.

John watched Sherlock glare at the ceiling.

Sherlock just kept glaring at the ceiling.

"Sherlock, come on. Why does that bother you?"

"The thought makes my skin crawl," he reported, "that you think I'm the kind of person who _wants a boyfriend_.  Pathetic."

"You're not pathetic," he said quietly.

"I know I'm not!" he said sharply, eyes snapping to John.

John held up his hands in surrender. "Okay."

Sherlock's gaze lingered on him suspiciously, then he looked at the knee of his trousers.  He flicked some imaginary dust off it.

"I was just saying," John started carefully, "That wanting one doesn't mean you're pathetic, or just sitting around waiting. You're a lot more than someone who wants to date."

Sherlock sighed again, but much less angrily.  He stopped pretending to be removing dust. 

"Not trying to offend."

"Aware," Sherlock mumbled.  He picked his head up.  "Tea?" he asked hopefully.  In addition to possibly resulting in tea, it might also result in an end to this torturous conversation.

"You just don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Correct."

"Why not?"

He looked at him in a way that he hoped made it clear he was questioning John's intelligence.  "Why do I, Sherlock Holmes, want to discontinue a conversation about feelings and boyfriends?"

"I just don't like you thinking this way," he said.

He flopped his head back.  "We've established this."

John sighed. "Fine. Tea is fine."

With an overwhelming sense of relief, Sherlock watched him walk to the kitchen.

* * *

A few days later, at about 8PM, Sherlock appeared in the sitting room looking better-groomed than usual and slightly uncomfortable, which was as uncomfortable as he ever got.

John looked up from his laptop. "Sherlock. You look..." He nearly said nice, then decided to say handsome, but that didn't feel right either, and he couldn't figure out why he was spending such effort deciding on a word to describe his flatmate's appearance. "Good."

"I know," he said absently.  He squatted to tie his shoe, then when that was done he crossed to the coat hook and started wrapping up.

"Where you off to?"

"Date."

John blinked at him. "Oh. Really?" He smiled. "Good."

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise, and then he was out the door.

John watched him go, and his smile fell a bit. He should be happy that Sherlock had a date. He decided to ignore it and went back to his laptop.

* * *

Sherlock returned a few hours later, looking thoughtful.

John looked up at him. "How did it go?"

"Fine," he said honestly.  "At no point did I end up with any beverage tossed at me, he stayed a reasonable amount of time, set another date."  He looked at John.  "I suppose that qualifies as fine."

John nodded. "Yes, that's good."

He nodded thoughtfully again and drifted around the flat after hanging up his coat.

* * *

A month and a few not-catastrophic dates later, Sherlock hesitated by the door as he was on his way out.  "John?"

John, who was in the kitchen making himself dinner, turned towards the doorway. "Yes?"

"Um."  He walked closer to the kitchen.  "Previously his flat was an option, but Martin's flatmate has his woman over for the night.  But if this evening progresses as I project it will..."  He couldn't believe he was being this polite, but it was John.  Also, John always asked him before he brought someone home, so in this _one_ instance, Sherlock would observe common courtesy.  For John.  "Would it make you terribly uncomfortable if I brought him here...?"

John blinked at him. His immediate response was yes, and it startled him. Because he certainly didn't care if Sherlock was gay. But the idea of Sherlock bringing someone home was..."No, that's fine," he said. "Did you want me to leave for the night? Go do...something? Or just stay out of the way?"

Right.  Good.  John was fine with it.  Of course he was, John was a nice person.  "Whatever you want."  He got his coat on.

"Alright, well." Why was he struggling so much to find something to say? "Have a good night."

Sherlock nodded and was gone without another word.

John watched him go. He debated between staying or going out for the night. On one hand, Sherlock had never left when John brought someone home. John shouldn't have to. He could stay out of the way. But the idea of hearing Sherlock bring someone back, maybe glimpse him as they moved to Sherlock's room, sent a spike of...something through his chest. John abandoned the dinner he'd started and grabbed his coat. He'd stay out for the night.

* * *

The next date was less successful.  Sherlock returned earlier than expected.

John, seated on the sofa with a book, looked up. He hadn't expected Sherlock for a couple hours.

"I'm unaccompanied," he assured John as he entered the sitting room area.  He stood there a bit blankly, scarf in his hand at his side.

John watched him. He'd been stretched across the sofa but he sat up now. "You alright?"

He shrugged.  "Fine."

"You look..." He'd never struggled to find words so much as he had in the past month or so. "Not fine."

Sherlock shrugged again.  "Got dumped, bit of a blow to the self-esteem I suppose."

"Oh, Sherlock." He put the book aside. "I'm sorry."

He turned around and hung up the scarf, then the coat.  "Doesn't matter."

"But you liked him." He stood, hovering, unsure if he should stay there or move closer. "Did he give a reason?" He hesitated to ask. It was a question you could ask some people and not others, and with Sherlock it was hard to tell.

Yes, he'd liked him.  Sort of.  Insofar as he had been moderately similar to John.  "Evidently I'm a nutter."

"He said that?" He shortened the large gap between them.

"In more words, but all of those did appear, yes."

"Out of nowhere?"

"I wasn't entirely innocent," Sherlock conceded.  "However, he said he'd thought this way for a while but some particular skills I posses made up for it."

John winced. "That's awful of him."

Sherlock shrugged.  He blinked at the fridge.  "Am I meant to eat ice cream after this foray into the ordinary?  Or am I allowed to skip that?"

"You can do whatever you want."

He checked the fridge and discovered strawberries.  Pleased, he brought the whole carton out to the sitting room and sat with it.  John watched him, but wasn't sure what else to say. He felt bad, because Sherlock had seemed to enjoy dating, but he hadn't liked Sherlock dating. It surprised him how much he disliked the idea of Sherlock going out with someone.

The Massacre of the Strawberries began.

"Want anything besides strawberries?" John asked.

"Mm-mm," he hummed, already about halfway through the carton.

John continued to not know what to say and simply watched Sherlock instead, eventually moving to sit down instead of standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

When the carton was obliterated, Sherlock leaned back looking full and content.

"Guess you found your ice cream."

He nodded in agreement, sort of burping.

"Any better then?"

"Strawberries improve any situation," Sherlock said firmly.

"Good."

Sherlock set the empty plastic aside and stared blankly at nothing in particular.

Such a look was rare on Sherlock, and John knew what it meant. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He shrugged only one shoulder this time.  No need to be repetitive.

"It's okay if you're not," he said.

A flash of irritation crossed Sherlock's face, but it passed quickly.  "I can add him to my mental spreadsheet of people who are disgusted by me," he said neutrally.

"If he's disgusted by you then he's an idiot," John said bluntly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"He seemed to like you. You had fun. So it's okay if you're upset that he dumped you." John watched him. "After all, it did just happen tonight. At the very least you're allowed to be unhappy tonight."

Sherlock shrugged because he couldn't think of anything to say, but he did feel a bit looser.  He scooted a bit closer to John.

"You'll find someone better," John said, nodding. "Someone who doesn't say stuff like that to you. Who likes your work and experiments and deductions. Who cares about you."

John didn't see the obvious problem with that statement: Sherlock _had_ found him.  Sherlock scooted a bit more.  Slowly, giving John plenty of time to pull away without it being awkward, he lowered his head until it was on John's shoulder.

John wasn't sure what to do for a minute, but Sherlock had just been dumped. Evidently, Sherlock wanted to be comforted. So he tilted his head against Sherlock's. "You two will find each other," he said with certainty.  He liked being this close to Sherlock. Really liked it.

"I don't need this hypothetical person," Sherlock reminded him mildly.

"I'm just saying. Martin was an idiot, but someone isn't." He really, _really_ liked sitting with Sherlock like this.

"Okay, John."

"I'm sure of it." John shifted into a more comfortable position, which just happened to be slightly closer to Sherlock. He didn't want this to be a one night thing. He knew he wouldn't sit like this with any of his other friends. Sherlock was different. He was sure Sherlock would find someone amazing who wanted him for everything that he was. Suddenly, John hoped it didn't happen anytime soon. And, finally, it occurred to him that it might, possibly, be him.

* * *

Nearly a week passed. John slowly began to realize just how much he cared about Sherlock, and how little he wanted Sherlock to date anyone else. Sherlock, for his part, did seem better after his breakup. So that was good. John wondered if it was too soon to say anything.  John had suggested they go out somewhere, do something away from the flat. He wasn't particularly specific about it, but figured Sherlock would agree. He'd been very agreeable lately, compared to normal at least. He wasn't quite sure why, though he thought it might have something to do with the breakup.

Sherlock was fine.  John had been very attentive and that was nice.  He hadn't exactly fallen out of love with John at any point, so the attention was welcomed and although he'd entirely gotten over being dumped by the morning after it happened and currently couldn't remember Martin's name, he wasn't going to tell John to stop being nice to him.  John had been inviting him places lately and it was nice.  He always looked so happy when Sherlock agreed to go.  And so when John suggested they go to, of all places, Pret a Manger, he'd simply nodded and followed him out the door.

John was pleased, and the two set off, choosing to walk as it was a nice day.  They walked like they always did, and as always Sherlock despised the space between them.  He glanced at John's hand where it swung between them and looked away.

They arrived soon enough, and John, at least, was having a nice time as Sherlock deduced the other customers for their amusement.  John... liked this. He _wanted_ this. He wanted _more_ than this, and he realized he was an idiot for taking so long.  He could almost pretend this was a proper date. John wasn't sure though if it was too soon to say something. Or, for that matter, what Sherlock would say. Sherlock had told people they were together, but John wasn't sure if that was because he was convenient, or if there was some hidden motive behind it. He just didn't _know_ , and with Sherlock Holmes that was dangerous.

Sherlock looked around, as was customary for him.  A woman nearby was giving John appreciative looks.  Sherlock gestured at her with his head.  "She's interested."

John barely glanced at her. "That's nice."

"And looking for a one-off," he added.

John hummed.

Sherlock blinked at him, then decided he wasn't going to try to figure out ordinary people, and resumed his sandwich.

John eventually stood, moving a table or so away to toss his rubbish in the bin. That was when the woman decided to approach.

She smiled at John.  Sherlock thought she seemed fairly intelligent.  Pretty in a plain way.  Nice enough.  John's type exactly.  "I'm Mary," she said.

John smiled at her politely. "John."

"I'm aware that this is forward but I've got to get back to my practice: would you like to meet me here tomorrow for tea?  Around noon?"

John looked at her properly. She was pretty, seemed sweet, and certainly looked like someone he would date on a regular basis. A couple months ago he would have jumped at the chance. Now though, he had Sherlock to consider. He just wanted Sherlock, even if he didn't actually have him yet. He did know there was no way he would get him if he was going out on dates with other people. "Thanks, for asking. And you seem sweet but," he nodded towards Sherlock back at their table. "I'm already in a relationship."

"Oops," she laughed.  "Barking up the wrong tree I guess.  Well, see you around."

Sherlock was staring when John returned to the table.

John swept a couple crumbs off the table.

Sherlock continued staring at him.

John glanced up. "Almost done?" he asked very casually.

Sandwiches no longer existed in Sherlock World.  He didn't take his eyes off John for a moment.  "You can do it, but I can't?" he demanded.

"You can." His eyes tried to drift away but he forced them to stay on Sherlock. "If you want."

Sherlock stared some more.

"Though you do know that, in general, I don't like lying. So..." He lost the battle to keep watching Sherlock and stared at the table instead.

Sherlock didn't look away, though.  "John."

"Yes?"

"I've wanted you for years," he said slowly.  "If you're joking, it isn't funny."  He didn't think John was messing with him.  But he had to make sure.

John's eyes snapped back up to Sherlock. "I'm not joking."

The detective nodded slowly.  "Alright.  Then."  He shifted.  "I suppose I have to make an honest man of you."

John smiled. "Suppose you do."

Sherlock left it there for a moment, but there was a fairly-important question he had to ask.  "You're straight," he pointed out.

"I lean towards women, but I've been interested in a couple men. Besides you, I mean."

"Oh."

John waited. "So. Keeping me honest?" he reminded him.

Sherlock scoffed.  "Am I supposed to formally ask you out?"

"You could just kiss me," John suggested.

Sherlock stood up, leaned over the table, grabbed John by the front of the shirt, and hauled him in for a kiss.

It wasn't the most graceful kiss he'd ever had, but it was sudden and intense and so Sherlock. John half-rose out of the chair, wanting to be closer but having a table in the way. An inconvenient table. Because this, kissing Sherlock, touching Sherlock, was amazing. And he wanted more of it.

Sherlock pulled back, too soon for either of them but they _were_ in the middle of a Pret and even Sherlock was aware that it wasn't the best place to snog, cramped as the little dining area was.  Instead, he simply held onto the front of John's shirt and proceeded to drag him from the restaurant.

John didn't really much care where they were.  He pulled him to a stop outside to kiss him again, pressing closer now that there was no table to get in the way.  Sherlock only had so much self-control.  He wrapped his arms around John like he was the last source of oxygen on Earth and held him close.

John didn't pull back for a while, and when he did it was only far enough away to talk. "I like kissing you."

Sherlock kissed him again, quickly, simply because he could.  "Friendship," he said evenly, "and sex, and someone who doesn't get in the way of cases."

"Someone who likes the cases," John said, arms tightening around Sherlock. "And who already lives with you, and cares about you, and wants to make you happy."

Sherlock did something he'd always wanted to do: he pulled John close and tucked him right under his chin.  And yes, he fit there, just like he'd always thought he would.

"I can't believe it took me so long to figure it out," John said, oblivious to the fact that they were on the street with people milling about.

Sherlock barely heard him.  "Figure out what?" he mumbled.  John fit there.  Right there.  It was amazing.

"How I feel about you. I've been an idiot."

"It's okay," Sherlock said, managing to force some of his attention back to John's words.

"Wasted time not knowing though."

Sherlock sighed pulling John as close as he could, uncaring for the people who now had to detour around them.  "Have time now." 

"Yes," John said, smiling against Sherlock's chest.  "Guess we do."


End file.
